


crossing paths

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Escort Dany, Escort Service, F/M, Fluff, Fuckboi Jon Snow, Meet-Cute, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Jon Snow is always bored at galas, balls, the usual events he has to attend as a rich Stark. At his cousin's wedding he encounters the mysterious Dany, who continues to pop up in his life, and hehasto find out who she is, because well, she's absolutely perfect.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 155
Kudos: 593





	1. meet cute

**Author's Note:**

> I made the moodboards for this fic awhile ago without a plot and then figured it out. This is entirely fun and romance, with eventual smut in part two. It's split up because I got halfway through at 11k words and figured it best to separate it, ha. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

"That's a six, no go, I'm only here for the eights."

"Yeah right, she's definitely an eight, so I'll take her." Robb grabbed his refreshed whiskey from the bar, spinning around and snapping his fingers. "Come on Jon, look alive, there's plenty of hot things out there and you need to get laid."

Yes, he did, but that was besides the point. None of the women at this wedding were interesting to Jon. He didn't rate them the way Theon and Robb did, because they were disgusting chauvinist pigs. According to his cousins. He agreed. They were manwhores of the highest order, fuckboys, all those words that women used these days. He knew they referred to him the same way, and he really didn't give a shit. He sipped his whiskey, making a note to tell Arya her choice of bartender and alcohol supplier was sorely lacking. This shit was disgusting.

And it wasn't like the Starks couldn't afford the best. Same with the Baratheons. He chuckled, nodding towards his cousin Sansa, who was sulking with some of her girlfriends. "Sansa's pissed. Bet some of her friends are too, you both have a shot there."

Robb twiddled with his phone. "Been there, done that. All of them, actually. Jeyne and Jeyne both."

"What? When?" Theon demanded. He scowled. "I was with Jeyne too."

"Which one?"

They squabbled over Sansa's friends and which one they'd banged-- Jon ignored them, they were getting too gross for even his tastes. He swept his gray eyes across the crowd. The ceremony had been a private family only affair in the godswood, and everyone adjourned for a few hours after several torturous hours of being posted and prodded for pictures, into the old keep in Winterfell for the reception.

More were invited to this part of the wedding, hence Robb and Theon staking claims on the various guests they would go home with later. Or at least attempt to go home with. Jon had recently broken up with his girlfriend—for the eightieth time—knowing he was dragging them down and knowing this was the best chance he had to find someone to lose himself in.

He drained his whiskey, swishing the swill in his mouth for a moment as if it were mouthwash—that might be stronger than this shit honestly—when he saw her. His eyes widened; he almost spit out the drink. He gulped, not breaking contact with her. _Surely, she is not real? Maybe I am drunk?_

The goddess entered the keep through the massive double-doors large enough to bring in several carts and horses, as they had once been used for in ancient times. The stone hall was massive, high ceilings and walls flanked with the Stark and Baratheon banners, old swords, bows, and other assorted relics of the past that his family clung to like a lifeline. He followed her, wondering who she was, how she was there, and _what the fucking fuck!?_

She was on the arm of Jorah Mormont.

That fucking creep, he seethed, wondering how in the seven bloody hells _Jorah Mormont_ of all people had managed to snag someone so breathtaking, so beautiful, so mind-numbingly...

"Fucking hells, there's a ten right there, she's mine."

Jon twitched, glancing at Robb and Theon's dopey gazes, realizing horrified they were staring at the same woman. "No, she's mine," he announced. He slammed his whiskey glass down, poked both of them hard in the chests. "You're both disgusting, ranking women the way you are."

"Of fuck off Snow, you do it too."

 _Not verbally._ He smirked. "You both got laid last night, bridesmaids, right?" Neither one of them looked at him so he knew it was true. he chuckled, adjusting his tie. He had this one in the bag. No way was she going to stick with Mormont all evening. "I'm going in."

"She's like a fifteen," Theon moaned. "Look at her legs."

"Look at her tits."

Jon elbowed both of them in the gut. "Fuck off both of you." He hated how they objectified women the way they did. Gross pigs, both of them. He pushed by them, and thought he'd do a bit of recon first. He hit up his uncle, asking if he knew who was with Jorah. "Also why did you invite him?" he mumbled. "He's a pig."

Ned scowled. "The Mormonts are a very well-respected family. Mage even named her daughter after your mother."

 _Still, doesn't mean we have to invite them to everything._ He found his cousin, tugging her aside from making out with her new husband. "Hey," Arya complained. "I was busy."

"You've got time later to fuck his brains out." He nodded to Mormont. "Who is that with her, you know?"

Arya frowned. "No but I love her shoes." He hadn't gotten that far. The shoes in question were six-inch platform heels, visible through the slit in the goddess's strapless gown, which was black and had a v-cutout teasing the perfect swells of her pale breasts. She frowned. "I don't recognize her actually. Then again I don't remember giving Mormont a plus one."

"Ned invited him."

"Fucking seven hells I don't know anyone here." She gaped, mouth falling as she took note of the entire keep. She grabbed her husband, who was speaking with Lord Beric Dondarrion, both of them marveling at a couple of swords that were depicted in some of the wall tapestries, including one on fire. "Hey! Gendry! Do you know any of these people?"

While his cousin had an existential crisis, Jon edged closer to the woman with Mormont, who was standing politely at his side, her hands holding a small black square clutch, smiling gently, nodding along to whatever he was saying as he spoke to a woman Jon recognized was his sister Mage. The woman at his side—the goddess—excused herself and stepped backwards, turning a little.

They locked eyes for a brief moment, but Jon wasn't sure he'd ever seen a more beautiful face in his entire life. His mouth dropped slightly, struck in place. her eyes were a strange aqua-gold, her face pale and heart-shaped. She smiled in his direction, her eyes crinkling in the corners, threatening to disappear behind her rosy cheeks. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown, thick and swept over to the side in an elegant, loose knot. A simple diamond necklace draped over her collarbone, her wrists bare, but he caught twinkling on her fingers from a few rings.

Her dress was a black column, with that teasing slit up the back and there was a cute little bow underneath the 'v' that gave it a whimsical appearance, made it less severe and boring. He moved fast, almost cutting her off at the bar. "Hi," he blurted out. He mentally slapped himself. _Get it together Snow._ He briefly smiled. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm actually getting a drink for myself and my date, thank you." Her voice was accented; barely. It was definitely not Northern. Those beguiling eyes were slightly vacant, face placid. "Excuse me."

"You know the Starks have always had a bit of a saving complex, never thought I had it myself, but I think for you I'll make the exception," he teased, keeping her from the bar.

She frowned, a tiny furrow forming between her brows. "Excuse me?"

"Jon Snow," he introduced, offering his hand. He flashed another smile. "Cousin of the bride. And you are?"

"Dany," she replied. She lifted her brows, leaning in slightly, whispering. "Date of Ser Jorah Mormont, who is waiting for his drink, excuse me."

He scowled. "How do you know Jorah?"

"Old friends," she breezed.

"Kind of rude of him, to make you get his drink."

"I offered; I don't think it rude at all."

"maybe I'm more chivalrous then."

The cool lilt in her words turned icy, flicking against him like flecks of ice. "Maybe you are being rude, I asked you twice to let me through, you have not. I do not care to make a scene." She pursed her lips. They were pink and perfect. She grit her teeth. "Excuse me."

He moved by, feeling foolish. He followed her to the bar, leading his elbow on it. "Let me get it for you."

"It's an open bar, so that's not much of an offer."

"I feel bad."

"As you should," she retorted, prim. She lifted her dark brows, a smirk forming on her lips. "I would like a gin and tonic with lime, my _date_ " He winced at the stress she put on that final word, one of those arched brows lifting higher. "Would like a Northern ale."

He stepped closer to her; barely getting a whiff, she smelled like powder and strawberries. He smiled again. "Well then, can't keep your _date_ ," now it was his turn to stress the word, biting it out. "Waiting."

"No we cannot."

They stared at each other a moment more, testing, teasing; who would cave first. He licked his lips, smiling and gave in. "Dany," he drawled, liking how it sounded on his lips. "Is that short for anything?"

"IS Jon short for anything?" she replied, not answering. He keyed in on that. She took the glass he ordered for her, barely sipping her drink through the tiny black straw, and then clamped her hand around the ale, but frowned, realizing that there was nowhere for her to hold her clutch at the same time.

He snagged it, wagging it at her. "Mormont should have gotten the drinks."

She scowled. "I can handle it myself."

"And Jon is not short for anything," he said, walking with her towards Mormont. He knew that Robb would likely have made some crack about Jon just being short, but he didn't feel like self-deprecation at the moment. It was actually kind of nice; even in her stilt-like heels, she was still a few inches shorter than him. She was so _tiny_. Except he also had seen there was fire lying underneath that cool, polite demeanor.

"Jon Snow."

"That's my name."

"And yet you claim to be a Stark?"

He wrinkled his nose; he didn't want to get into that mess. "Let's just say I've got their blood," he answered, arriving at Jorah's side.

"Jorah," she greeted, smoothly sidling towards him and passing him his drink. She cocked her head, but her smile did not meet her eyes, which remained somewhat blank. "Northern ale, like you requested."

"Thank you, Dany, ah, you met Jon." Jorah wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her to his side. She nodded. He grinned, leaning a little closer to her. "Jon is the bastard of the Starks."

He grit his teeth, keeping his smile on. "And Jorah is the exiled son of the Mormonts." He was glad to see Jorah's smile drop. "Or he was, I guess, until his father called him back to help. Anyways, don't let me keep you." He passed the clutch to Dany, who took it gingerly, her smile gone, her blue eyes sympathetic. "Nice to meet you Dany."

He brushed by, knowing it was wrong to have snapped at Jorah the way he did, but _no one_ still mentioned that shit about his birth status. He ended up back in a group with Robb and Theon, the two of them unable to figure who they were going to try to score for the evening. It appeared as though both had slept with the bridesmaids already as well as other members in attendance. Robb was scrolling through his phone, saying something about how Margaery Tyrell was in town for a convention, he should give her a shout.

Theon handed him another whiskey . "Looks like Jonno didn't score either."

"She's with Mormont."

Robb spit out his drink. "What?" he coughed.

 _Something wasn't right._ Mormont was a sleaze. He'd literally been exiled by his father, he'd come back apologizing after making some amends in Essos and fixing their business, and now he had that beautiful woman, considerably younger, and obviously smarter, as his date? No, it wasn’t right.

Plus how could she not have looked twice at him? If anything, Jon wanted to know her further. "She said no to you, didn't she?" Robb wondered. he laughed. "And we all know Jon likes his women mean to him."

"Mommy issues," Theon agreed.

Jon punched Theon in the stomach. "Next time it'll be your dick," he warned, as Theon wheezed. He knew what they said. He scowled at them both. "And I'd like to have seen either of you try to dump Ygritte. Remember when she shot me?"

"Three times, yeah, i was there." It was arrows but could have easily been a gun. His ex was psychotic. She'd been after his money after essentially blackmailing him into a relationship with her. Jon still had no idea why he'd been in it as long as he had. He sighed, no longer wanting to be around either of them.

It bothered him, how much that woman was still in his head. It wasn't that it was the _no_ but rather the curiosity there. The sudden punch in his gut when he'd seen her. The crackling in the room, the tension between them. Jon was a curious person by nature. He wanted to know more.

And yeah, maybe it was because she'd so emphatically denied him.

He ended up in the men's room, washing his hands and splashing some water on his heated face; curse Arya for wanting a wedding in the dead of winter, the hearth had been roaring for extra ambiance, but he was more comfortable in the freezing weather than the stifling heat of the reception room.

The door swung open, Jorah entering. He smirked at him. "Snow."

"Mormont," he greeted. There was mor animosity there than he cared to admit. Maybe because Jorah's father had treated Jon as a son more than he'd treated Jorah. Jeor had been his commanding officer in the military. He liked the Old Bear. Shame Jorah really didn't. He leaned his hip on the sink, while Jorah adjusting his bow tie and preened at his reflection. He squinted. "So tell me, Dany...how'd you meet her?"

"King’s Landing."

"That's the where, i asked the how."

He turned, frowning briefly, his craggy face deepening in furrows. "I met her in King's Landing and she graciously decided to accompany me."

"What's she do?" It wasn't a question he ever really cared about, but he was curious. Last he heard; Jorah hadn't really been working. He'd been doing something for a Pentoshi businessman and some Dothraki horse traders and that was about it. The woman didn't seem like she engaged with either group.

Jorah's hands shook a little. His eye twitched and he shrugged again, leaning towards the taps. "Business."

"What kind?"

"Why do you care?" he retorted.

The few other questions he asked were just as shrugged off. It seemed even like he didn't _want_ to tell him. Jon grinned, realizing it. He wasn't the observant one in the family for nothing. He clapped Jorah on the shoulder, said he'd see him later and enjoy the wedding, and left the restroom, hurrying his way through the keep and into the hall, instantly spying the beautiful Dany.

He appeared at her side like a ghost, startling her with his whisper. "I know why you're here."  
She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "I'm a date."

Jon leaned in, whispering, his breath tickling at her ear, one of her diamond earrings swaying with the movement. "You're an escort."

It went over like a bomb. Her face instantly fell, eyes darting sideways to him. Her throat bobbed a moment and she turned, reaching down to wrap her fingers around his wrist, tugging him with her. He smirked, following and waved at Robb, who gaped from across the hall. Dany led him out onto one of the large terraces, where they were alone, and freezing, only a few stand-up heaters scattered among the snowy wet stone for smokers who had to get out for a fix.

She brought him as far from the party as she could, wheeling on him. "How do you know?" she blurted. She was furious. Seething, she poked a finger in his chest. "Keep your mouth shut."

Jon grinned. "Ha, I was right." He knew it. The class she exuded, the vacant smile to Jorah, the inability to answer simple questions about someone you should know if you were bringing them to a fucking wedding. He laughed. "I knew Jorah was desperate, but an escort?"

"Excuse me," she snapped, haughty. "You just can't help but be rude, can you?"

"It's my thing I guess, being the bastard I am."

She cocked her head, frowning again. her voice softened. "That was rude of him. I can't believe he said tha.t"

"Not the first time, won't be the last." He would probably have it on his tombstone. Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell. He leaned close to her, lightly dropping his fingers to skim on her arm; her skin was pebbling into goose flesh, and she was shivering. It was dead winter in Winterfell. He couldn't believe she was still standing. "Jorah is a sleaze and a creep. If he hasn't put moves on you, he will."

"I know he will, he's not my first rodeo." She laughed. "I can handle myself Jon Snow. Thank you."

"I didn't say you couldn't. You're lucky I'm bored, but not bored enough to destroy Mormont." It could have been fun, embarrassing him. Except it would embarrass Arya and also this beautiful woman in front of him. _Dany_. He cocked his head. "What's he paying? I'll double it."

The fact she didn't throw her drink in his face was something. Except she did step close to him, hissing angrily. "I'm not a hooker." She lifted her foot, stepping her heel onto his foot. _Fuck!_ His eyes watered. "I don't sleep with the clients. To assume is insulting and demeaning."

He coughed through the pain, grateful that heel wasn't anywhere else. "I didn't think you did," he laughed. He knew better than that. He lifted his brows. "And if you did, it's none of my business."

"None of this is your business." She moved her foot and pushed by him, saying nothing, returning to the reception.

He turned, gaping after her, mouth ajar, eyes wide.

_I think I'm in love._

There was just something _about_ her. I wasn’t her looks, although that was part of it. He blinked a few times, hoping the feeling would pass. It didn't. He had to know more. The wheels in his mind turned. He planned it out, like he was back in the Night’s Watch on a mission. He smiled quickly and reached into his tux pocket, removing a cigarette and casually lit it, smiling to himself.

Once he finished his smoke, he reentered the reception. The appetizers and cocktails had almost finished, and they would all be ushered into an accompanying hall for the actual dinner. He needed to act fast. He spotted Jorah, who was letting Dany go on ahead into the hall, while he pulled out his phone and stepped into the corridor.

Even if the other man was stockier and taller, he knew he could take him if it came to it, and he didn't have any intention of it getting that far. He wandered up to Jorah, keeping his voice low, the burr thick; if anyone passed by, they'd hardly hear or understand him anyway. "So I spoke with Dany. What agency is she with?"

Jorah almost dropped his phone, fumbling. He glared. "What?"

"What agency?" Jon lifted his brows, smirking. "Come on Jorah. You and I both know all these stuffy events. It's a pain in the arse to bring a date, why do you think I'm solo? Consider it advice for the future."

After a second, Jorah chuckled. "Tyrell. Olenna."

"Ah, her matchmaking service has a side business."

"It's well known, just not heavily advertised." Jorah reached into his pocket and removed a card from his wallet, handing it over. There was a single red rose tangling around a script 'O.' A phone number on the back and nothing else. "Give her a call."

"I just might. Have you met Dany before?"

"She's my favorite, I always bring her to these things." Jorah scowled. "You aren’t thinking of swiping her?"

He shrugged, nonchalant. "I might." Now it was his turn to reach into his pocket, removing several large Northern bank notes. Jorah's eyes widened. Jon grinned. "I'll double what you're paying."

Jorah glanced at him. Then at the money.

Jon flashed a smile.

* * *

Several minutes later, a switch of some tags on the tables, and Jon was approaching Dany, who frowned as Jorah ducked away from her and hurried away after saying something. He approached her, smirking. "Congratulations, you're free."

She stared at him a second and then at Jorah, who refused to look at her. "What?"

"He's a creep, you don't need to be with someone like that, I bought out the contract."

Her mouth fell. "What the fuck?" She was furious and rightfully so. She spun at him, gripping his wrist again and storming into the hall, raving; her shoulders were shaking. He grinned, wondering if the fire he'd sensed simmering underneath was about to be unleashed. She whirled on him again and hit him, right in the solar plexus.

He wheezed, gasping for air. "Fuck you," she snapped. "I am not chattel, not some broodmare, some prize for you and your fucking family and friends to buy. I'm a person and I'm _working_."

"I know," he coughed. He blinked back the pain, rubbing at his chest. He winced, closing his eyes against pain filling him. She frowned, moving closer. He shook his head, rubbing hard at his sternum. "Sorry, it's...old injury." He turned away and quickly took a peek, sighing at the reddening of his old scar from the punch. "Fuck, you've got quite a hook."

"Gods, I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." She trailed off and then rolled her eyes. "You know what, fuck that. I'm not sorry, I don't need to apologize." She huffed, glaring at him. "Well you wasted your money Jon Snow. I am _not_ your date, my contract was with Jorah Mormont this evening as a date to a wedding, now that he has clearly voided it, I will be going."

"Wait!"

To his surprise, she paused. She turned, a hand going to her shapely hip. Her brow arched again. "What?"

Jon straightened, still rubbing at the sore spot in his chest. He nodded towards the coatroom. "You want to get back at him?"

Dany squinted. "What were you thinking?"

"Doesn't he love his car?" He wiggled his brows, moving by her towards the room, to collect their coats. He grinned, turning and walking backwards. "Wanna slash his tires?"

To his delight, she followed, holding her skirt in her hand, still fuming with anger. "Light his car on fire, more like."

"We could do that too."

After a moment, eyes locked, gray on that peculiar blue, she nodded. She smiled. "Alright."

They tugged on coats; hers was a long beautiful black duster with a row of shiny black buttons up the front. He didn't really need his overcoat but tugged it on and left it open, leading her from the keep and down the winding stairs and ramps towards the parking lot. They laughed, almost slipping in a couple places, and he grabbed her hand to keep her from stumbling on the steps.

"What's with those killer heels?" he teased. "Unless you use them as weapons."

"They've come in handy tonight." They stole through the lot used to park the cars, searching for Jorah's. She spotted it and grinned, hurrying over, dropping her clutch on the hood. Her fingers were red, breath coming in hot smoky puffs; with her shining eyes and her bright red lips, she looked like she was going to breath fire.

Jon realized there was a clip in her hair, holding it back, visible at the nape of her neck. He leaned closer; it was a silver three-headed dragon. _She certainly is a dragon._ He knelt with her, both of them laughing as they let the air out of the tires. "Serves him right," she seethed, comping back to her feet when they'd finished.

"Oi! What're you two doing over there?"

They both spun, staring at a couple of the hired security guards. Laughing, he grabbed her hand, and they tripped and ran towards the keep again. "Fuck!" Jon laughed, enjoying himself immensely. He was certainly no longer bored. Beside him, she laughed too; a beautiful, throaty laugh, just as smoky as a real dragon.

They weaved through the grounds; he grew up here, knew exactly where they were going. She said nothing, let him lead her. He let go of her hand, sensing she didn't like to be led. She smiled gratefully at him. They ended up in the glass gardens, to escape the biting cold. It was humid inside the glass structure, filled with blooms, his favorite being the blue winter roses.

He turned before one of the rose bushes, reaching to pluck one, passing it to her. "My lady."

"Queen." She held the bloom to her nose, inhaling the sweet scent, her voice soft. "If this were a time where you used titles like that, I'd be a queen." She licked her lips, cocking her head. "And you'd be...my jester."

He laughed. "Actually I’d be nothing," he murmured. He stepped closer, toes of his boots touching hers, exposed to the elements in her open-toed heels. He sighed. "How are you not freezing?"

"I am, but I also am hot-blooded. It feels fine now." She looked around the space, eyes wide and drinking it in. "IT's beautiful here."

He thought so too. "It has its moments," he murmured. He leaned in towards her, meeting her gaze again. He reached to touch her cheek, to turn her face towards him for a kiss. As he leaned in, eyes fluttering shut, her laugh filled his senses again, breath mingling with his. His eyes sprang open, pulling back, curious.

Dany grinned. "You're not sleeping with me Jon Snow."

"I wasn't..." he began.

She laughed, reaching up and grabbed the back of his neck, bringing him in, kissing him hard and swift. He hardly had a moment to taste strawberries and gin and lime, to feel the softness of her mouth, and the light brush of her tongue to his, before she yanked back. She pushed his shoulder. He stumbled a little, dumbstruck. "That's all you're getting from me Jon Snow. Have a good evening."

And then she picked up the coat and clutch she'd set on one of the stone benches when he wasn't looking, and sauntered away, door swinging closed behind her, leaving him to marvel after her, knowing full well he had never met anyone like her in his entire life. He had to see her again.

 _Bloody hells_ , he thought, laughing. _I don't even know her last name._

* * *

“Oh my gods Jon what is _wrong_ with you?”

Jon chewed on the end of his dog tags, which he still wore—force of habit and because it was a rather fashionable accessory—barely paying attention to his cousin, who was standing in the center of his spacious hotel room, arms crossed and irritated that they were going to be late to the yearly Ironborn Shipping gala that Theon forced them to attend every single year. Along with every other dullard lord and lady in the Seven Kingdoms. He hated this particular event, it was just _so boring._

And there were never any entertaining women, possible fights and rivalries, and he usually spent the evening getting drunk with Arya, but he couldn’t do that this year because she was on her tour of the world with Gendry. They’d been married for two months and by all accounts had no intention of ever ending their honeymoon. That was _not_ the deal they made when she told him she would be leaving Winterfell and moving to Storm’s End with Gendry. Jon was pissed.

He was also pissed that he hadn’t been able to wheedle out of Olenna Tyrell—or Margaery—who the mysterious escort ‘Dany’ happened to be. “Confidential!” Margaery had chirped nonstop when he tried to ask her. Olenna just hung up the phone on him after calling him a “horny little wolf wanting to shag anything with a cunt.” He didn’t even have the heart to argue that that was _Robb_ or maybe his cousin Rickon who had a band and never cut his hair and liked to call himself Shaggydog after his wolf.

He moped, perusing a boring news article about protests on the Wall. His ex-girlfriend was front and center. “Did she get that referral I sent her for a cosmetic dentist?” Robb wondered, glancing at the paper.

Jon snorted; Ygritte had never bothered to take care of herself, claiming she didn’t need to worry about things like hygiene or fashion when people were suffering. It was one of a few reasons he always broke up with her—he hated being associated with someone who thought a trash bag constituted fashion. He had a reputation to uphold. “No, she also blamed me for it,” he said, remembering that fight. Ygritte had almost broken his teeth and _he’d_ had to go to the cosmetic dentist to make sure they weren’t cracked.

“Well I must say I am glad you aren’t running back to her. Your off and on thing was downright nauseating.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, flicking the paper around so he could scan the bottom of the fold. He was glad for it too. He’d finally gotten rid of the leech. “I think she’s fucking one of my old mates from the Wall. Grenn or Pyp maybe.”

“Gross.” Robb fiddled with his cufflink. “Come on man, you’re pathetic lying there in your jammies.”

“Jammies? What are you five?”

“That’s what those pants look like.”

He glanced at his plaid pants, loose on his hips, his briefs showing. He crumpled the paper and threw it at Robb, pouting. “I’m not going.”

“Come on, so you don’t know who she was…”

“Dany,” he murmured, remembering her smile, how she had laughed. How he’d gone back to the wedding reception to discover that Jorah Mormont had left early, allegedly claiming sudden illness, but then found out to be nursing a set of exceptionally bruised balls, courtesy of a high kick from a tiny dark-haired lady in a black dress. Along with a broken nose and black eye. And she’d taken a large wad of cash from him while he lay on the ground too. _Good for her_ , he’d thought happily, as Arya wondered who this mysterious woman was because she wanted to shake her hand for finally getting creepo Jorah to stop being a creep.

He turned on his side, shaking his head on the couch pillow. “I’m not going. I’m going to stay here. Order room service. Drink.”

“That’s what you always do. Why’d you even come to King’s Landing anyway?”

“See the sights?” He actually had business to attend to. Meeting with his editor. He sighed, climbing up to his feet. “I miss Ghost.”

“Ghost is fine, he’s living the life up at Winterfell running through the woods with Grey Wind and the others.” Robb marched into the bedroom and tugged out the black garment bag with the suit. “Come on, you don’t have to have fun. If anything you can annoy Theon with me. Margaery wasn’t able to come and there’s no one in the Greyjoy family I would ever fuck so I’ll be bored too.”

He rolled his eyes; that was something. “Fine,” he groused.

A couple hours later they were in the Red Keep, rented out for the evening for the yearly Ironborn Shipping gala. It was a big thing, something that Theon’s sister had started doing when she took over the company after the rather mysterious death of their father and uncle. She would have held it at Pyke but admitted the Iron Islands were so dreary no one would come, so every year the company held the gala in the Red Keep, in view of the Iron Throne, with a rather well known and famous art auction. It was rumored the art were all stolen at some point by the Ironborn of old and Yara was finally seeing it returned to its original owners, although no one knew for sure.

Either way, he hated the Red Keep. It gave him the creeps, made his skin crawl, and he hated the Iron Throne more than anything. An ugly monstrosity cordoned off. Robb bragged that he’d once fucked on it, but no one believed him. Jon didn’t think it safe; you could slice your dick off on one of those swords. Not worth it.

He signed, morosely sipping his whiskey, while Robb tried to find someone worth flirting with. “This sucks,” he complained.

“I told you,” Jon said. He scanned the crowd himself, not seeing _anyone_ worth speaking to. It was always the same group of people. Robb was starting to accidentally start sleeping with the same woman at this rate. Their circle was rather small. He was about to suggest they make a break for it, go find a club or something, when he saw her.

_Dany._

His mouth fell, the whiskey almost slipping from his fingers. He grabbed Robb, jerking him through the crowd. “What are you doing?” Robb complained. “You almost spilled whiskey on this! It’s custom Oberyn Martell!”

“He’ll make you a new one, look!” He smiled, dopey, at the sight of Dany.

She had entered the throne room wearing a gorgeous navy dress, somehow the straps over the front of her breasts staying in place, crisscrossing in her back, and a slit up to her thigh. Her dark hair was poker straight and _long_. Large green and pearl-like earrings hung from her lobes and she wore a large ring on her right hand. She turned, looking over her shoulder, and smiled warmly, that same close-lipped smile she’d given Mormont, one he knew was completely and utterly fake.

As he’d seen her real smile, wide and beaming, her eyes disappearing behind those apple cheeks. He almost moaned at the sight of her, forgetting just fucking _gorgeous_ she was. “It’s her,” he whispered again, reverent. “Who is she with…. _NO!_ ”

The yell was so loud Robb almost took him out then and there; his Aunt Catelyn shot him a dark warning look like she was going to murder him then and there, and Ned also looked disproving. He struggled at Robb, who had covered his mouth, and almost sloshed whiskey down his front. “Shut up!” his cousin exclaimed.

“Lemme go! I’ll kill him!”

For standing at her side, grinning arrogantly at her, was fucking Theon Greyjoy. A dead Theon Greyjoy soon enough, Jon seethed. He pushed Robb off of him and adjusted his jacket and collar; unlike everyone else he never wore a traditional tux. Tonight he had on a black silk shirt buttoned to his throat, no tie, and black jacket and trousers with his traditional black boots. He adjusted his watch—designer, of course, and tried to look put together again, but his gray eyes never left Theon, who had caught sight of him and _winked_.

He pushed at Robb, growling. “Get rid of Theon. _Now_.”

Thankfully Robb didn’t fuss. He strode off towards Theon and tugged him away. It left Dany to look a little confused, mouth ajar in surprise. Jon walked straight up to her and didn’t even bother to pretend. “Theon? Theon Greyjoy? Really?”

She spun slightly; once again on six-inch platforms. These were navy to match the dress. “Oh,” she exclaimed, blue-gold eyes widening. “Jon!” She frowned. “What are you…”

“Doing here? Could ask you the same thing.”

She straightened slightly, mask in place. “I’m here with someone.”

“Theon,” he grumbled.

“You know him?”

“Practically grew up with him, he’s a dick and a douche and…”

“And my date, I should return to him.”

He cut in front of her again when she tried to leave, shaking his head, laughing. “Come on Dany. He’s awful. He’s a total dick, he’s going to treat you like nothing all evening.” He nodded towards the bar, smiling a little. He no longer felt as confident as he had a moment ago, his hands curling tight into fists in his pockets. He swallowed hard, wondering why her gaze was so intense on him. He’d never met a woman who could look so straight him and see…see into him like how she appeared to. He glanced at the toes of his boots. “I mean...I’ll help you escape.”

At least she seemed more amused by this attempt than the previous one with Mormont. “Jon, I appreciate your warnings, but I’m a big girl, I can handle myself, and I sign a contract. I’m sorry. Enjoy your evening.”

“Come on,” he said. He didn’t cut in front of her, because he knew she wasn’t going to walk away. Sure enough, she remained in place, exasperated, her hand on her hip. He wheedled her, smiling, a little more confident now. “Just a drink. Theon is a big boy. He can handle himself.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robb had completely waylaid Theon, was plying him with shots.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, a dark brow arching. His stomach flipped. Lips pursed, she tried not to smile. “Alright,” she acquiesced. He jumped on the inside, trying to remain smooth. “One drink. _Just one._ ”

“We’ll see.” He led her to the bar, got her a gin straight, and himself another whiskey. They wandered towards the Iron Throne, with its signs around saying not to touch. He studied it a moment. “What do you think fucking on it would be like?”

“Cold and awkward.”

He laughed, glancing down at her. “You speak like you have experience.”

Her brow arched again, teasing. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” _Oh my gods._ His mouth fell slightly, giving her time to speak before he could. “Jon, this is sweet of you, keeping me from Theon, but I could get fired.”

“Well whose your boss?”

“I think you know that,” she laughed. She smirked. “She says you don’t quit.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I wanted to ask you out.”

“I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“And this is?”

Dany leaned in, quiet. “I haven’t decided, so the answer right now is…no.” She walked around him, glancing over her shoulder. “I heard there’s dragon skulls here. I like dragons.”

He wasn’t sure if that was an invitation, but he decided to take it as one. “I’m more partial to wolves,” he said, following her towards the bar. She set her empty drink down and he leaned over, grinning at the bartender. “Six shots of Red Viper.”

“What!? I’m not doing shots with you!”

“Yes you are, come on.” He took the shots, three in each hand, wiggling his brows to her and jerked his head to the exit. “Let’s find those dragon skulls.”

After a second of chewing her bottom lip; he noticed it was a nervous habit, she sighed and hurried after him, holding the skirt of her dress, hissing that if she got fired, she would find him, kill him, and burn him where he stood. “And I can find you too, you’re not a secret man Jon Snow,” she complained.

“Been looking me up on Searcheros?”

Her pale cheeks tinged pink, giving her away. “No.”

“Liar.”

He knew where the dragon skulls were, in another antechamber, one that had a cord over the entrance saying it wasn’t for the gala guests. He didn’t give two shits and stepped over it, placing the shots down to help her, but she hiked up her skirt and slung her leg over the partition, easily hopping it in her dress and heels. And the straps didn’t break at all from her skin, which was smooth and creamy, and all he wanted to do was touch it and see if it was as soft as it looked.

She smirked. “Boob tape.”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at my tits Jon; you’re wondering how they haven’t popped out yet. It’s boob tape.”

He flushed. “No I wasn’t!”

“Liar.” She took three of the shots and sauntered to the first of the massive dragon skulls, a little moan of sorrow slipping from her lips. “Oh look at these poor babies.”

“Poor babies that could destroy cities and castles.”

“Yes but they’re someone’s sons after all.” She sighed, shaking her head a little. “I wish I had a dragon. I love them.”

“I have a wolf, does that count?”

“Really?”

They spent the next few minutes talking about his Ghost, an albino wolf who he liked to think was actually a direwolf given how massive he actually was. Except no one had seen direwolves in centuries. “I have an evil cat named Drogon, I think he’s a dragon,” she said, walking into another one of the rooms. She took a seat on a stone bench, said to have belonged to a former Queen of Westeros when she first conquered a city in Essos, and gestured for him to join.

They sat before the massive dragon skeleton allegedly belonging to one of the queen’s dragons, found in the Narrow Sea, and she lifted up one of her shots. Jon grinned; he was waiting for this. “What’s this one for?” he asked.

“To galas.”

They threw back the shot, snorting and laughing. The tequila burned hot on his throat, eyes watering. He reached for the second, shocked as she’d already thrown back the second, wiping her wet lips with the back of her hand, giggling. “Sneaky,” he laughed.

“I haven’t done shots since undergrad.”

He cocked his head, curious. “You’re a graduate student?”

She licked the tequila from her lips and off the tip of her thumb. He felt his cock twitch in his briefs at the sight of her pink tongue darting out and then back in again. “Something like that,” she murmured. She reached for the third shot, after he’d knocked the second one back. His stomach burned and his vision was getting a little iffy; he’d ignored his glasses in favor of the contacts and after drinking a bit too much they started to itch. He blinked hard, contemplating popping them out, but then he’d really be in trouble. Stumbling around not because he was drunk but basically blind.

“Now what’s this one for?” he wondered, lifting the third shot.

Dany smiled, eyes twinkling in the slices of moonlight that cut through the large narrow windows in the hall. They looked black to him. “Do you like these things?”

The question caught him off guard. He wasn’t sure how to answer. “Um…not really,” he admitted.

“Then why come to them?”

“Why do you come to them?” he deflected.

“I come because I’m paid to come. Do you get paid to come? Are you essentially an escort for your family?”

 _Basically._ He licked his lips, dry now. He didn’t really like these personal questions, but this woman disarmed him. It seemed like she could cut straight to the heart of anything. He wondered if that was why he was so attracted to her. Or if it was her confidence, her mystery. “I…” he began. He swallowed back any sort of confession, tightly smiling. “I’m the Bastard of Winterfell. I’m basically famous.”

“Because your mother never divulged your father’s name. It isn’t so much fame as notoriety and notoriety that is unnecessary.” She pursed her lips, scowling. “I hear you’re a writer.”

“You could have found that on Searcheros.”

“Your stuff is good.”

“It’s just stuff.” Shit he wrote when he was up at the Wall. Shit he wrote after these events, picking up random things here and there from the rich and famous, turned it into stories. He had a series in the fiction magazine _The Kings Lander._ He’d done a couple exposes, essays, and nonfiction pieces too.

She shrugged, not pushing it further. “Well then,” she took a deep breath, lifting the shot. “Last one. What should we toast to?”

He glanced around at the dragon skeletons and skulls and dropped his gaze to the ring on her hand. Other than the large statement one she wore, there was another. He recognized it from when she was at Arya’s wedding with Jorah. It was of a dragon, curled around a pearl, like an egg. “To dragons,” he decided.

She chuckled. “To wolves.”

They clinked their shots, threw them back, and before he could get up, she was already moving towards the exit. “Wait” he exclaimed. “Don’t you want to look more at the skulls?”

“I have to get back.”

He chased after her, back into the Keep. “Come on,” he teased. “Dance with me?”

She hesitated, glancing around the large space again. It didn’t matter; by now Robb would probably have Theon passed out somewhere. He was a good wingman in that way. She nodded, taking his hand. He led her to the floor and danced with her, even if he really, _really_ hated dancing.

The night went on, the auction started and concluded, and he found himself laughing with Dany, wishing he knew more of her, but she kept any questions vague and non-personal, save for the ones she’d asked him in the privacy of the skull room. At the end of the evening, when it was time to depart, he cornered her near the exit, almost begging. “Go out with me. Please?”

“Nope,” she laughed, tapping her fingertip to his nose. She smiled, gently. “I have to get back.”

He sighed. Theon was nowhere to be seen. “Come on,” he murmured, cocking his head, putting on his widest puppy dog eyes that never failed him. “Please? Just one night.”

Dany shook her head. “Sorry.”

He remembered the kiss, how fast and how hot it was, how he wanted _more_ afterward, the promise and the teasing. He leaned in, but she pushed him back, laughing. He sighed, giving up. _For now._ He smiled again, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Well I owe Theon a thank you.” At her questioning look, he grinned. “I enjoyed occupying your evening, but he paid.”

She laughed. “I’ll be sure to dime you out if I get in trouble.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t.”

“I don’t need your help Jon Snow.”

 _No you certainly don’t._ He nodded, walking out with her. As her car pulled up, a black town car that no doubt Theon had paid for, he held open her door. “Such a gentleman,” she said, stepping towards the open door.

“My mother would come back from the dead and haunt me if she knew I didn’t maintain some sense of chivalry, even if she was a raging feminist,” he laughed. Lyanna Stark would have just called it _fucking manners_.

“Well thank you.” Dany leaned over the top of the door, grinning, her eyes twinkling. Her dark hair fell over her shoulder. She winced a little and glanced around; no one was looking and to his fascination, she reached under the strap of her dress, wiggled around a second and sighed, relieved. She lifted her fingers, tape stuck to the end of them. His mouth dropped. “Boob tape. So uncomfortable by the end of the night.”

“I’ll take it,” he offered, holding out his hand.

“Pervy.”

He made a face. “Gross! I’m not Theon, I was going to throw it out for you.”

She laughed. “Sure.” She waved. “Good night Jon Snow.”

He was about to ask her for her last name, something, anything to identify her beyond just _Dany_ , but she pulled the door closed and the car pulled from the curb, the red headlights blinking at him as she disappeared again.

* * *

Jon loved his cousin desperately, but he was also going to kill her.

He tried to adjust the stupid itchy wolf mask he wore, the strap of it digging into his scalp. He had no idea _why_ the ball was necessary, let alone _why_ it had to be a masquerade of all things. “Stop fussing!” Arya complained, reaching up to smack at his hands, which were trying to fix the mask again. “You’re making it worse.”

“Oh fuck off. Why are you doing this again?”

“Because changing faces is fun, being someone else and all that.” She stuck her tongue out; she was wearing a mask that was half black and half white. It went with the asymmetric skirted ball gown she wore, and her trousers underneath, as Arya _hated_ dresses. “What are you supposed to be for this anyway?”

“Wolf, duh.”

“Better than Robb’s wolf mask.” On that one he had to agree. Robb’s wolf mask looked like something had died on the side of the road. He was currently dancing with Margaery Tyrell, likely would all evening. The keep in Storm’s End was massive, the lights cast down in the chandeliers above, and it gave everything a very spooky quality to the ball.

He scratched the mask again, scanning the crowd. There was no one there he was at all interested in trying to flirt with, speak with, or otherwise engage with, not since the last couple of society events. He secretly hoped she’d be there that evening. Although he wasn’t sure how to spot her, given everyone’s faces were hidden behind various monstrosities of sequins, feathers, and beads. He poked Arya. “I still don’t get this thing.”

“Jon, just shut up and enjoy yourself.” She smirked. “You did last year.”

“Aye, well that was an anomaly.” That had been during a rather decent time in his relationship with Ygritte. He’d enjoyed himself, but he had also been so drunk he couldn’t remember much of the night. Just that he _might_ have pushed her off one of the ramparts into the swimming pool below, but she also could have slipped. He had joined her, knowing he did jump. He didn’t fancy replicating the experience, he still had an ache in his arse from the fall.

He sipped his whiskey, wondering where Theon was. He still had to get back at the douche for daring to book Dany for the gala a month ago. A dick punch wasn’t enough, which he’d also done. He needed more. “Where’s your husband?” he wondered, glancing at Arya, who had been sticking by him most of the night.

“Dealing with the family.”

“Hmm.” Gendry was like him, product of some affair, except unlike him his father had claimed him, rather publicly and legitimized him, making him his sole heir and chief engineer at Baratheon Iron Works. Robert was a complete dick, and by the looks of it, he had dragged Gendry into the fold of some sort of boisterous meeting, sloshing wine and drink over himself as he told no doubt an inappropriate story. Gendry looked ready to die.

Arya launched into a tirade against her sister Sansa, who was at the event and embarrassing her by going into her ‘Nexit’ demands, loudly demanding of anyone to support her cause to separate the North into its own country. Jon wondered when he could escape and get back to the hotel. Or go somewhere else and make his own fun. He checked his watch, groaning inwardly. It hadn’t even been two fucking hours. “When’s dinner?” he wondered, but Arya didn’t answer, still in the middle of a Sansa rant.

He sipped his drink some more; glad Gendry had requested his preferred whiskey. He caught sight of the poor man in between a red-faced Robert and a sour Stannis, his uncle. Gendry looked ready to die. He tilted his drink towards him in solidarity. He was glad Ned wasn’t around, he’d skipped the event in favor of staying back up at Winterfell but sent his children and nephew instead to represent him.

“Who is that?”

“Huh?”

Arya pointed, rudely, towards someone who was beside Renly Baratheon, Robert’s youngest brother and the ‘black sheep’ of the family. “I thought Renly was gay.”

“He is, everyone knows he and Loras Tyrell are together.”

“Not tonight.”

Probably because it was Robert’s party, Jon figured, searching out the woman in question. He followed Arya’s finger and froze, staring at the figure. “No,” he murmured, dropping his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “It can’t be.”

“Can’t be who?”

The woman had on a deep plum colored gown, large tulle skirt billowing around her. It nipped in at her waist, the bodice wrapped around her tightly, and a simple black tie around her throat held it up. It revealed bare silky white arms, shoulders, and teased shapely legs through the thin tulle at mid-thigh. Dark hair was pulled up in a bouffant-style and she wore massive starburst silver earrings. Her mask was shimmery purple and black and he knew instantly it was a dragon, a tail curving around the side of her head to pin into her hair and the other corner of it appearing like a snout.

_It’s her!_

“Dany,” he whispered.

He had to know for certain and knew he would when he got to her face; he had to see her eyes, but he was positive it was her. Arya called after him, but he ignored her, and slid through the crowd, knocking by Theon and pushing Robb out of his way as he spun by in Margaery’s arms. He approached Renly, who was introducing her to a tall blonde woman Jon knew was Brienne Tarth, who had a terrible crush on Renly and looked upset at being introduced to his date.

“Dany is a student in King’s Landing,” Renly said, rather pompous. “She has never been to the Storm Lands before, funny as her last name is Storm.”

 _Dany Storm_.

He thought that as a perfect last name for her, and intended to tell her, but she moved away, excusing herself while Renly continued talking with Brienne. He followed her straight to the bar, cutting in front of her, grinning. “Stop stalking me,” he said, as greeting.

Her mouth fell, shocked. “What!”

“I mean, once at my cousin’s wedding, fine. Twice at the Ironborn gala, okay coincidence, but this? Oh you’re after me,” he teased. He beamed, noting her eyes were dancing behind her mask, even if she pursed her pink lips, trying to look stern. And failing. “You’re stalking me.”

“I would actually say you’re stalking me. I heard you tried to call to request me.” She laughed, dropping her clutch on the bar, grinning. “Olenna is just amused now.”

“Aye, well.” He was annoyed at Olenna for refusing to tell him anything further. He wasn’t going to go so far as to actually try to book her for a date, he just wanted to know more about her so he could ask her out in person, not try to trick her. He smirked. “Now that you’re here…”

“I’m Renly’s date, not yours.”

“He’s gay.”

She shrugged. “So are lots of men I go on dates with.”

“That’s what they’re called then, dates?”

“Dates, meetings, events, whatever you prefer. Now if you excuse me…” She picked up two champagne flutes from the bar, smirking. “I have a date.”

Jon sneered, annoyed. He understood her professionalism but didn’t mean he had to like it. He found Arya again, both of them sulking and spending most of the evening making fun of peoples’ masks. They also casually flung bits of canapes at Sansa’s head, irritating her beyond belief. He kept his gaze on Dany, watched her smile politely, stand at Renly’s side, and… _yes_.

She checked her watch.

She was as bored as he was, she couldn’t wait for the night to end. _Perfect._. “I’m out of here,” he announced, pushing away from Arya. He approached her, lightly touching her elbow. Dany turned, rolling her eyes at him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Jon,” she warned.

His skin prickled, warmth spreading through him at the tone of her voice. Something to explore later, he noted. He was about to say just dump Renly when Renly came back over, leaning to kiss her cheek. “Thanks so much for tonight Dany, I really appreciate it. Now that the family is done with me, you can leave if you want, or stay.”

“Well I,” Dany began.

“Fantastic,” Jon announced.

Renly frowned, surprised at him. “Jon Snow? Didn’t know you were here.” He grinned. “You know Dany?”

“We’ve met,” Dany said, teeth grit. She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Thanks Renly, give me a call if you need a beard again.”

“Will do.”

Renly must have been too stupid to hear the sarcasm in her voice or he didn’t care. “Bye Renly,” Jon chirped. He grinned at her. “You don’t have an excuse now. You’re free.”

Dany rolled her eyes again. “Yeah I guess so. Well, I suppose I can enjoy myself now.”

“Perfect, you hungry? The food here is shit.”

“I didn’t mean with you!”

He walked backwards as she moved towards the exit. “What’d you have in mind then?”

“Honestly?” She laughed. “I was going to go back to my hotel, take off these shoes, draw myself a bubble bath, and read.” He closed his eyes briefly, trying not to dwell too long on the image of her covered in bubbles. She pushed at him, joking. “Pervert.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called.” He walked out of the chamber with her, towards the large front doors which remained open to the gathering winds off the Breakwater Bay outside the old stone fortress. “Look, you can say no, I’ll walk away, but…dinner? Just tonight, aye?”

That was it, he figured. If she said no, he’d have to walk away. It wouldn’t make him happy, but he’d do it. Except he also knew she wouldn’t say no. She was a strong woman; if she wanted him gone, he’d be gone. He knew his limits. He smiled cheekily; hands shoved in his suit pockets. In the wolf mask he probably looked like a deranged lunatic. She pursed her lips tightly, thinking. He knew he had her when she released a dramatic sigh, shoulders falling. _Yes!_ “Fine,” she grumbled.

“Excellent.” He offered her his arm. “My queen.”

She laughed, taking his arm, looping hers through it. “You remembered.”

“That you’re not a lady, but a queen? Aye, of course.”

“Please tell me you don’t drive a pretentious racecar,” she said, as they waited for the valet to bring up his car.

He rolled his eyes; he was a rich guy, but not a douche. Or at least, he didn’t think he was. “I think you’ve mistaken me for my cousin.”

“Hmm.”

To her surprise; he saw the widening of her eyes behind her mask, the valet pulled up in a black Range Rover with a ski rack on top and a bike rack attached to the back. He chuckled, tipping the valet enormously with one hand while he held open the door for her. He swept his arm inward. “My queen. Your chariot.”

“My dragon,” she corrected.

He laughed, closing the door after her, making sure the large tulle skirt didn’t get caught. He walked around the front, chuckling at the moans of the young valets, one of whom said a little too loudly “He’s so fucking lucky.”

Luck wasn’t something Jon Snow had a lot of. Except as he put the car into drive and caught sight of Dany taking off her mask out of the corner of his eye, he suspected that tonight he did have it in spades.

He flung his mask off, throwing it into the backseat and cringed when she brushed off some white hair that clung to her skirt. “Ah, sorry, Ghost tends to travel with me even when he isn’t actually here.”

“Your wolf?”

“You remembered!”

“Hard not to remember someone who has a wolf.” She chuckled, leaning back in the seat, sighing hard. “Well Jon Snow, where are you taking me for food? You’re right, the stuff back there was horrible.”

“You like seafood?”

“Aye,” she mocked his accent.

He smirked, rolling his eyes at her pathetic attempt. “Aye,” he corrected, putting more emphasis on the rolling burr. He grinned, spinning the SUV out of the long winding driveway from Storm’s End towards the main road. “I’ve got a place in mind.”

* * *

About thirty minutes later, he pulled the SUV up to a small brightly lit restaurant at the marina overlooking the Breakwater. “The Onion Knight?” she asked, reading from the haphazard wooden sign that was falling off a hinge near the entrance. She frowned. “Have you taken me here to murder me?”

“Nope. Davos isn’t much on aesthetics.” He helped her out and she paused, stumbling a little on the rocky lot. “Oops, sorry didn’t think…” Dany shoved her clutch in his hands and leaned down, unstrapping her heels. She plucked them from her feet and tossed them into the car and then opened her clutch. He stared, transfixed, as she unfolded something like little shoes and pushed her feet into them, sighing in relief. He peered into the clutch. “What else you got in there?”

“Life hack,” she laughed, wiggling her toes in the flats. “Necessary when you wear heels as much as I do.” Without the six-inch shoes she was smaller than he ever would have thought. She walked by him, holding up the skirt, looking around the wooden clapboard house, with the dangling white twinkle lights and large lanterns and torches lit up around the porch. “So what kind of food does this Davos have?”

They got situated immediately, once Davos saw it was him. He hadn’t seen his old friend in a couple years, and after getting briefly reacquainted with the old man, he introduced Dany, and took a seat at the table Davos led them to, with an amazing view of the waves crashing to the rocks along the shore. “Where’s the menu?” Dany wondered.

“No menu lass, I bring you what I make you,” Davos teased.

He smirked at her surprised expression. “It’s good, whatever it is.”

“Anything I catch on my boat in the morning, is dinner in the evening,” Davos explained. He patted their shoulders, beaming. “I’ll get you drinks.”

She peered over the table at him, smiling. “He likes you.”

He shrugged. “I guess. I’ve known him forever.”

“No, he _likes_ you. How did you meet a sailor from the Storm Lands?”

They spoke for a long time, Davos bringing out plates of shrimp, oysters, clams, and mussels. It was messy, napkins tucked into their necks, sitting there in their fancy clothing, laughing and breaking into shells and claws. He told her how he met Davos when he was in the military, which prompted her to ask him a few questions about that. He answered, trying to get her to speak, but all she did was shrug and say she wasn’t that interesting. There was a story there, but he didn’t pry, not wanting to scare her off.

She talked to him about her cat Drogon, a feisty angry ornery creature. He told her more about Ghost, about his writing. She said something about studying—he guessed she was a student. They realized that their birthdays were roughly several months apart, her obsession with dragons extended to a tattoo on her wrist, which she showed him she kept hidden behind makeup and a patch, peeling it off her skin. He had a tattoo of Ghost, but on his shoulder.

“I can show you later,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “You wish.”

They made a mess of their meal, shucking the remnants into the rocks and grass over the porch railing, as directed by Davos when he returned with more. She slurped out an oyster from the shell and wagged it at him. He’d been watching her, amazed at how she would just dive in and make a mess. Any of the women in the highborn circle would have balked at possibly messing up their dress or looking unladylike. She just went straight in. “You’re not kissing me,” she said, swallowing the oyster.

He blinked, surprised. “Huh?”

“You’re looking at me like that. You’re not kissing me.” She picked up the bottle of beer Davos had brought them with the meal, a local brand. She took a pull from the longneck, swallowing hard.

He smirked. “Why am I not kissing you?”

“Because your breath smells like seafood.” She laughed. “And I’m not that desperate.”

He grinned. “I have gum in the car.”

“Hmm, not enough gum to get rid of this smell.” She waved at the mess around them. She looked up at Davos, who came back over with refills of their water, nodding towards him from across the table. “Davos, tell this man I’m not kissing him with breath like that.”

Davos chuckled. “She’s not kissing you lad.”

“Fine, gang up on me,” he huffed, joking.

Davos glanced at him, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. He scratched his scrubby beard. “How’d you get someone as beautiful and funny as her, eh lad?” He didn’t wait for an answer, smiling down at Dany. “He doesn’t bring anyone here. You’re the first woman he’s brought here, so I think he’ll do anything you ask. He’s wrapped around your finger.”

He flushed, looking away. He was going to _kill_ Davos for that one. “Thanks,” he said wryly. “Thanks for that Davos.”

“Anytime lad.”

He walked off, leaving them alone again. Dany’s smile had softened, her arms pillowed on the table. Her blue-gold eyes twinkled. She shook her head slightly, quiet. “Maybe next time,” she murmured.

His heart leaped at that. “Next time?”

Dany stood, crumpling her napkin and setting it on the table, picking up her clutch. She pushed away from the table, smiling and walked away, glancing over her shoulder. “Maybe. I still haven’t decided yet.”

 _Well that was something_ , he thought, relieved.


	2. real date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party at the Dragonpit ends with Jon finding out who Dany really is, but he is undeterred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, there was supposed to be smut here, but I got super tired from a crazy work day and the beans just didn't cooperate. They were just too sweet and fun and dorky that I didn't feel like forcing it. So no smut today!
> 
> Enjoy these sweet and silly beans. Funny how a fic about a one-night stand/escort/fuckboi which was kind of supposed to be PWP ended up just being sweet fluff. Writing is weird like that.

“Who plans these things?” Robb complained, wiping at a red wine blotch on his designer white t-shirt. He scowled, pulling the shirt out further to get at the stain, sighing hard. “I should just take it off.”

“I’m sure the Lannisters would like that.”

“Why are we even having this party here? It’s hot, gross, dusty, and the Dragonpit is Targaryen fame, not Lannister.” Robb pulled off his white jacket and shucked off his white t-shirt, balling it up and dropping the couple-hundred-dollar garment on the high table where they’d holed up. He sipped his wine, after putting his jacket back on.

Jon studied him a moment and shook his head in disbelief. “You are such a dick.”

“Thanks. Why no white?” His cousin smirked. “It’s a white party, you’re supposed to wear white. Plus it is bloody hot.”

“My only concession to white is Ghost.” Everyone around them was in some sort of white ensemble, looking like a weird dreamscape, wandering around the ruins of the Dragonpit. There was flooring laid out over the dirt and rock of the pit itself, but he could not see at all why Cersei Lannister had chosen to have the annual Lannister white party there instead of at the Keep or out at Casterly Rock. Rumor had it that her father had banned her from throwing parties there after she’d tried to kill her own brother by hurling him from the ledge.

Jon thought it a fun story, but more likely Tyrion was shitfaced and just almost tripped over a barrier. He had his usual whiskey in hand, scanning the crowds, hoping he would spot _his stalker_ as Arya had affectionately begun to call Dany. He hadn’t seen her since he dropped her off at her hotel in the Stormlands, a month prior, and Olenna refused to answer his calls anymore. Margaery was no help either. He only came to this party in the hopes he’d see her.

He recognized a couple of other women who popped up at the events, who Margaery had dimed out as escorts with Olenna’s service. They were pretty, smart, and he wouldn’t be able to get anything out of them either, she warned. Olenna had a strict code. No one broke it.

He ran his finger behind the neck of his shirt, regretting that he’d gone with the black blazer in lieu of a gray one. Their table was in the shade, thankfully. He burned like a tomato if he was in the sun for longer than a minute. “This is so stupid,” he bitched. “I’m leaving.” He never should have come, it was dumb. He’d call the Stark Industries jet later and head back to Winterfell. At least Ghost would be glad to see him.

Robb laughed. “Or maybe you’ll stay.”

“Why?”

“Look who just walked in. Your _stalker_.”

Jon whipped around, hoping that his cousin wasn’t fucking with him, and his heart leaped into his throat. “Dany!” he whisper-shouted. He grinned, unable to help himself, barely acknowledging his cousin warning him to stay away. He downright floated through the crowd, until he came right up to her, on the arm of Jaime Lannister of all people. Made sense. Rumors had it that Jaime and Cersei had a bit more going on than just sharing a womb. They shared a little bit more than that nowadays. Of course Jaime would try to put off the rumors by hiring someone to be his date.

He didn’t even say a word to Jaime, who frowned at him as he stood right in front of them. “Dany,” he greeted.

In a flowing white gown with rope-like embellishments, she was the epitome of perfection. Her dark curls were done up in an elegant twist, with a silver dragon pin holding them from her face. “Jon,” she said. A smile pulled at her crimson lips. “How nice to see you.”

“You know him?” Jaime wondered.

Jon ignored Jaime. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m here with Mr. Lannister,” Dany said, patting Jaime’s arm, which was linked in hers. She arched one of her dark brows. “It was good to see you Mr. Snow.” She tilted her head to him, before smiling up at Jaime. “Care to get me a drink?”

Jaime frowned, but said nothing, nodding. He patted her arm. “I’ll be back.” He walked off, straight to his sister, who did _not_ look pleased that he had a date.

“He won’t be back,” Jon said. He smirked. “Rumors abound that Jaime and Cersei are a little too close for comfort. Let me guess, Tywin was the one who booked you?”

The little pucker in her forehead told him he was right on the money. “I cannot comment on clients,” she said, sing-song. She smiled again. “And I wonder if perhaps you are stalking me, Mr. Snow.”

“You never gave me your number after the Stormlands.” He put on a sad expression; feigning upset. He dropped her off at her hotel and that had been that; just a kiss on the cheek, joking that they both smelled like a sewer for all the fish they'd eaten. He wasn't _angry_ , if anything he was curious. What was her deal, exactly? And why was he so intrigued?

Her lips set a thin line, eyes crinkling. She worried her lower lip under her teeth and hesitated, stepping to him. He moved towards her, lightly touching her bare arm. He wanted to kiss her, to take her hand and lead her away from the fake drama of the highborn world, escape somewhere. Like they had in the Stormlands and even at Arya's wedding into the glass gardens.

She touched his wrist, her fingertips warm, and he thought perhaps she would take his hand, but she suddenly curled her fingers into her palm, forming a fist and jerked backwards, like she was burned. "I can't," she blurted out, eyes wide. "I'm sorry."

"Dany!" he exclaimed, but she slipped into the crowd, disappearing into the white dresses and suits and gold and crimson decorations for the bloody Lannisters. He cursed under his breath, turning and angrily storming towards the table where Robb was waiting. He stole the drink from Robb's hands, draining whatever it was.

Robb frowned. "You're mad."

"Annoyed." He glared towards the throng of people, trying to find her. He turned his head slightly, frowning at Robb. "Am I a fuck up?"

It wasn't like he thought about it often. He tried not to think about much of anything, honestly. It wasn't worth the pain. Live and let live. Spend his trust fund. Be the lecherous bastard they thought he was. He wasn't even that good at it; Robb had more notches in his belt than anyone he'd ever met except maybe Theon or his Uncle Brandon, the belt was barely a strip of leather. Except he'd kind of just fallen into those things.

Dany was the first woman he had actively _pursued._ All the others were just sort of there. Maybe he wasn't that good of a playboy. Fuckboy. Whatever.

Robb frowned. "No more than me or Theon. You have a real job."

"I write stories, that's not a real job."

"At least you have responsibilities." Robb shrugged. "Why are you so upset about this girl?"

 _I don't know. Something about her._ He looked down at his hands, gripping the edge of the table. "She doesn't put up with it," he mumbled. That question she'd posed to him, in the Red Keep. The indignation in her face when he mentioned her job as an escort. Not caring about his trust fund, his fancy car, or the fact that he was Stark blood. Even if he didn't have a last name. He frowned again. "Maybe she does care."

"Jon I can tell you right the fuck now that Dany Storm does not care you're a Snow." Robb leaned over, quiet. "But you do. Maybe that's the problem."

He took a deep breath, slowly letting it out. He scanned the crowd again. "I'm not taking no," he mumbled. Olenna had been adamant in all the calls he'd made trying to find her out. Even going so far as trying to _book_ her, but the old woman stood firm. Something was up.

 _Let it go Snow_. _No._

He found her, about an hour later, checking her phone in a hidden away area of the Dragonpit, off to the side. Her cheeks were rosy and there was a light dew of sweat on her skin. He remembered she said she was hot-blooded. "Checking out the ruins?" he asked, quiet.

She looked up from the phone, fumbling with it back into her clutch. "Something like that."

"Where's your date?"

"With his sister." She smirked. "As you predicted."

Jon tried to smile. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "You look really nice," he complimented. His eyes creased with another smile. "Like a queen."

She smiled gently. "Thank you."

"I love this place. The history of it...you ever been?"

"A couple of times. As a kid," she said. She lifted her head, looking up in the alcove where they were standing, smiling sadly. "The dragons were massive, beautiful creatures and this place locked them up, made them small...Targaryens became small with them." She pursed her lips, her eyes shuttering, disappearing somewhere else.

He wondered what that meant but didn't say anything. Targaryens were famous, mostly for their ability to squander any money they earned. They'd been big back in the day, up and down throughout history, and he knew there was one still remaining, he rarely left his mansion in Pentos. Tragedy seemed to follow them too. "Targaryens are dragons," he said. He shrugged. "I think they'll be fine."

She stared at him, for a long moment, he frowned. He leaned towards her, but she turned her head, whispering. "He's not a dragon."

_Who isn't a dragon?_

He reached towards her, when she turned, stumbling slightly on the uneven stone. As he helped her straighten up, he frowned, noticing something just above her ear. "Hey," he murmured, fingers going to touch.

Silver hair.

She reached up quickly, knocking his hand aside. Her eyes widened. "Don't, Jon."

"Is that a wig?" He was curious. It made sense, he supposed, as Dany Storm surely wasn't her real name. The dark hair was fraying a little at the nape of her neck, courtesy of the heat and sweat. He smiled a little. "Show me the real you."

It was supposed to be kind of joking, but instead came out as a desperate plea. She shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," she snapped. She straightened, her back a ramrod. Her face a mask again. "Because this is a job Jon. I'm here on a _job_."

"I'm not going to pay for your time," he snapped. Maybe in the beginning, but not anymore. He scowled. "I like you, okay? I thought that was fucking clear back in the Stormlands when I took you to dinner!"

"Well you made a mistake then!"

"Obviously I did!" He tried not to take it personally, to not let the lash of hurt cut him too deeply. _It isn't you_ , he tried to think. She isn't doing this because of you, clearly. He swallowed hard. "What is it about me you hate so much?"

Her face fell. "I don't hate you," she laughed. Her eyes glittered from unshed tears. "Jon, I like you! Don't you see that's the problem?"

"Why?" he begged.

She opened her mouth, defeated, her shoulder slumping, but whatever she planned to say caught in her throat, both of them spinning towards the frantic screams of Cersei Lannister, on her knees over a prone figure in the middle of the Pit, and someone else shouting for a doctor and to call for an ambulance.

"Oh gods," Dany whispered, throwing her clutch at him and grabbing her shoes, dropping them on the ground. She took off, skirts in her hands, racing across and through people, battering them out of the way. "Move!" she bellowed. "Get out of the way! Don't touch her"!

Jon ran after, numb with shock, holding Dany's shoes in one hand and her clutch in the other, staring as she knelt at the side of Myrcella Baratheon, Cersei's daughter, who was shaking, her eyes rolled back and her limbs stiff. "What's wrong with her?" someone yelled, he recognized it as Jaime.

Tywin tried to shove something into the girl's mouth. "She's having a seizure," Dany said, pushing the old Lannister aside. He was affronted; no one had ever pushed Tywin away from anything. "Don't put anything near her mouth or she'll choke."

"What are you doing?" Cersei screamed. "Stop!"

"I'm a doctor!" Dany bellowed, knocking the woman away as she knelt over Myrcella. She turned the girl onto her side and held her hair from her face, shouting for someone to get her something soft for her head. Jon shrugged off his jacket and she snatched it, folding it and placing it under Myrcella's head, keeping her arm held back and leaning over her, whispering it would be alright.

After a moment; the entire Dragonpit had silenced, the ring of people staring in horror as Myrcella's eyes closed and she stopped shaking, her mouth ajar. "She's dead!" Cersei screamed.

"She's fine," Dany snapped. She looked up as paramedics entered the pit, waving. "Over here!" She leaned over Myrcella again, checking the slim watch on her wrist and pressed her fingers to the girl's neck, lips moving silently. She leaned down, listening, and nodded. "Alright, she's here...does she have a history of epilepsy?"

Cersei took a moment to realize she'd been asked a question. "Ah...what?"

"I'll take that as a no. Does she have known allergies?"

"Um...fruit...peaches and...and things like that."

"Stone fruit allergy," Dany said, clipped voice. She stood with the paramedics as they began to do their work, asking her questions about Myrcella's state and answering them matter of fact. She snatched a stethoscope from one of them, and began listening to her heart, nodding. "Good breath sounds. alright, get her on the gurney. She's tachycardic, pulse 110."

Jon stared, fascinated, as Dany spoke with the paramedics and they got Myrcella onto the gurney, and Cersei ran off with her, Tywin following. Jaime shook Dany's hands, begging her thanks and then ran off as well, slightly more concerned than one thought an uncle might need to be. He waited as people milled around and wondered what to do now that the hosts of the party had disappeared and there had been such a horrible moment.

He waited for Dany to get to her feet and dust at the red dirt staining her white dress, her hair frayed. He approached her slowly, wanting answers more than anything. "You alright?" he murmured.

She blinked hard; there was dirt near her eyes. He moved to brush at it and stroked her cheek, pushing towards her hair. More silver escaped from the corners near her temples. She swallowed hard, begging him. "Not here."

They walked away, back to the alcove. "Show me the real you," he whispered.

Dany hesitated. She shook her head. "I can't."

He dropped her bag and her shoes and reached towards her face. He found the pins holding the wig to her head. Tears dripped down her cheeks and he tugged, the wig falling back, pulling free of her scalp. He touched the cap that held her hair in place and peeled at it, dropping it to the ground. Silver hair dropped from her head. He pushed his fingers through it, the pins scattering, and it fell to her shoulders, luscious and tangled, like spun silk. Strands of gold threaded through it. He had never seen anything more beautiful.

As he was going to say so, she sniffed and leaned forward, reaching to her eyes. He frowned and watched her remove one contact and then the other, dropping them to the ground. When she lifted her face, he saw her as she truly was.

Silver hair. Violet eyes.

"You’re gorgeous," he whispered.

She laughed. "I'm a Targaryen."

 _Targaryen._ He shook his head, not understanding. "What does that mean to anything?" he laughed. He shrugged. "I'm a Snow...it...it's just a name."

"It means something to me."

"Why are you doing this?" If she was a Targaryen...why was she an escort? It didn't make sense to him unless....He frowned. "Are you a doctor too?"

"Med student," she sniffed. She took a deep breath. "Fourth year. I do this for money." She barked a laugh. "Loans are a bitch. The hours are good, and it pays better than anything. I can study and do my clinicals and...and be someone else."

 _Gods you're amazing._ He leaned forwards, whispering. "You're so bloody incredible."

Dany shook her head and knelt to pick up the wig, shoes, and clutch. "I'm really not Jon." She patted his chest and walked away, not saying another word.

He stood in the alcove for a long time. Thoughts raced in his mind, but he couldn't make sense of them. He needed to think. He turned away and left, hands in his pockets, trying to form a plan. But nothing came.

* * *

It didn't take him too long.

"Maybe I am a stalker," he wondered out loud, sitting behind the steering wheel in his SUV, studying the entrance of the Aegon's Hill University Medical Center. He could fake an illness or injury. He could _make_ an illness or injury. Run in bleeding and demand Dr. Daenerys Targaryen's assistance.

Well, she wasn't really a doctor, not yet. _Close enough_ , he figured, climbing out of the car. He slammed the door and leaned on the hood, frowning a little. It wasn't difficult, once he had her last name.

_Dany Targaryen._

Thankfully he was an investigator-- of sorts--as a writer. He did his searching, he called, he poked around as delicately as he could. He found that the last vestige of the Targaryen Group, a dragonglass mining outfit with lots of involvement in technology, sold to the Lannisters after Viserys Targaryen, the last son of the "Mad CEO" Aerys was forced to give it up to pay for his massive debts.

It had been going downhill for years—Aerys's son Rhaegar tried to save it, but he'd died in a helicopter accident when Viserys was a kid. Through mismanagement of the entire company's finances courtesy of its corrupt board, there wasn’t much left with Viserys came of age and by that point he was addicted to partying, used to only ever getting his way. He'd squandered everything he'd been granted.

There were very few mentions of a 'Dany.' _Daenerys._ Her birth announcement in a society page, obituaries for her father, brother, and mother. Another gossip article saying that Viserys was fighting the court to get access to her fund too, demanding her guardianship.

And an article from the Aegon's Hill University Medical School, announcing its valedictorian and commencement speaker at the graduation in two months-- Daenerys Targaryen, future Medical Doctor, aspiring to become a trauma surgeon. Apparently, she 'matched' with a premier trauma department in none other than the North. He didn't even know one of the Northern hospitals _had_ a trauma department, but apparently Queen Alysanne's did.

All these names, all after Targaryens. It made her words in the Dragonpit fit once he had the context. He grew up on ancient stories. Even made her words seem sad, in the throne room and the skull rooms of the Red Keep.

He entered the emergency room and went to the main desk. "I'm looking for someone," he said, flashing a quick smile. He hoped it would work. "Um, a med student?"

"You probably want to see a real doctor," the woman said, cracking gum behind her teeth. She leaned forward to the computer and picked up a clipboard. "Have a seat, fill this out, bring it back."

He rolled his eyes. "Nevermind." He pulled his phone out and scrolled through the contacts, narrowing in on one. He lifted it up and waited a second. "Hey Sam, long time...you still at Aegon's Hill?"

Several minutes later, one of his Wall buddies, who was a doctor in King's Landing and apparently still was able to get into the hospital's systems, informed him that Daenerys Targaryen would be out shortly to see him. He paced for a few minutes, hands raking over his hair, rubbing his beard, and pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Is this supposed to flatter me?"

He spun at the cold voice, staring with wide eyes at the woman before him. Her silver hair was pulled from her face in complicated braids, knotted at her neck. A stethoscope hung loose around her neck and she wore a short white jacket over black scrubs. Her feet were not in the massive platforms he'd become accustomed to seeing her in, but clog-like shoes with dragons printed on them.

He could see in black script writing above her left breast pocket-- which had the seal of the medical school on it-- her name with "Dany" in quotes between Daenerys and Targaryen. It was also partially hidden by the ID pages clipped to the lapel. A scrub cap was shoved into her other pocket, along with a heavy booklet and multiple pens and highlighters.

He tried to smile, but he was so surprised, he probably just looked like an idiot. He swallowed hard. "I looked at every hospital," he teased.

She pursed her lips, rolling her eyes. "Go away," she said. "I have work."

"Wait, Dany…Daenerys..."

"Dany," she whispered.

He looked around; the waiting room was full, and they were getting attention. Not to mention the group of teenage volunteers had their phones out, taking his picture. He wondered if he was going to end up all over their Raven accounts as "hot guy." Or if they recognized him from the stupid society pages. He sighed, nodding towards the exit. Dany stood in place, arms over her chest, and sighed, eventually following him out.

They moved over to a shaded area with a couple of tables for smokers-- the irony was not lost on him, right near a hospital. "So you found me," she sighed

"I did."

"You know about me then?"

He nodded, rather quickly. He laughed. "And I really don't care Dany." He furrowed his brow, confused. "Why would I think I would care?"

She shifted again, shaking her head, murmuring. "I don't know."

"Because I don't."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head again. "Jon, I'm a bloody escort. I get paid to go on dates with guys. Sometimes women." She shrugged again, glancing at the hospital behind her. He took notice the bags under her eyes, the hallow in her cheeks. "Olenna has been good to me. She really helped me. I actually like it. It gives me a chance to be someone else. Dany Storm." She pursed her lips, trying not to smile. "Then I come home and I'm Daenerys Targaryen, dressing up and looking pretty for money so I can pay my bills. Student loans, rent, car...my cat had to have fucking stomach surgery and I spent a week sobbing and then a week as a rich Dornish businessman's arm candy to pay for it."

A fierce look crossed her face; he never once thought it, he resented the fact she thought she had to explain. "I don't fuck them. I'm not a sex worker."

"I never said you were. Never thought you were," he whispered. Just like he had back i Winterfell the first night he met her. He was in awe of her, actually. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, shoulders rolling forward a little, instantly awkward. "I don't care Dany. I didn't when I met you. I don't now." He chewed his bottom lip, nervous. "I actually wondered if it was...me."

"You said something like that last week." In the Dragonpit. She rolled her eyes. "I don't care you're a bastard Jon. I'm not like them."

"Then why would care what I thought of you?" he laughed.

She closed her eyes tight, snorting. "I just...I keep the two lives separate on purpose. I can't mix them. It's a self-preservation thing." She laughed. "You might be a bastard, they might not call you a Stark to your face, but you're in the papers as one of them. You're in the family pictures and can you see yourself introducing me to your uncle and aunt?" She put on a really _horrible_ Northern accent, over affecting his burr. " _Oi, hello Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn, this is Daenerys Targaryen, the poor little pauper nothing daughter of a once crazy rich family who everyone laughs about, she dresses up in fancy gowns and dates rich guys and girls to pay her electricity. Aye!_ "

He frowned. He held his finger out, a hand going to his hip. He scowled "Okay, first...that accent?" He slashed his hand over his neck, gagging. She smirked "Horrible. I sound nothing like that. Second, I don't give a fuck what my aunt and uncle think..."

"Yes you do otherwise you wouldn't be worried about what _I_ think of you," she interrupted. She arched her brow. "You worry over others thinking you're nothing for your blood. Because they do."

That was truer than he wanted to admit, but in this instant he didn't care. Not one bloody bit. "I like you," he stressed. He laughed. "Go out with me Dany. Just as Dany. Not Dany Storm. _Dany._ " He stepped into her, pleased she allowed him into her space. His fingers dropped to her hips, lightly bumping into her. She rolled her eyes but didn't move. He smiled slowly. "The Dany who let air out of tires with me. Who kissed me in the garden. Who ate seafood in a pretty dress and saved a girl's life even if it meant showing who she was." He moved his nose to touch hers, smiling as she tried to turn away, but she didn't have the heart. He grinned; she was pressing her lips together, trying to force herself to not smile. "Go out with me."

She broke; her smile pulled wide on her face. "No," she tried to say, unable to keep her face straight. She gripped at the front of his shirt. "I'm a mess."

"Me too."

"I'm always tired. I'm always cranky." Her violet eyes danced, shimmering amethysts. "My feet hurt all the time."

"I'll pick you up at your place, I'll bring food, we won't go _anywhere_." He grinned. "Come on."

Dany pushed him away, stepping backwards, towards the hospital. She pointed to him. "After my shift. Ten o'clock. On the dot. Do not be late. And I'm not kidding about being cranky. I also want fried food. Gross stuff, junk food, bad for you."

"Done!"

* * *

Jon was nervous; more nervous than he'd ever been and he didn't quite know _why_. He'd never been perfect with girls—women—but it always seemed to work out. He wasn't stupid, he knew they liked how he looked, and he worked hard on his body. He glanced at the flower in the thin brown paper on the seat next to him, wondering if it was too much.

He didn't really _do_ romance.

Of his two legitimate girlfriends, one was certifiable and the other was done with him the moment she managed to "snag" him. Ygritte and Val were both from Beyond the Wall, which he supposed was why he must have been so into Dany. They were wild, just like her.

Except she was different.

He saw the flash of silver hair before he took her in, stumbling like a dumbarse straight out of his car, hoping that the most expensive detail he’d ever had done on the damn thing managed to suck Ghost’s hazardous waste equivalent hair from the black leather interior. He dusted off his hands on his pants, trying to appear nonchalant. “Hey,” he greeted her. His eyes widened, realizing she’d changed, as she came into the light from the lamp above them. “You look…”

The impression she gave him earlier seemed like she’d roll up in her pajamas and flip-flops or something after shift. Certainly not the red sundress, a black blazer thrown over her arm and in a pair of high wedge straw sandals. Her toes were painted bright red to match the dress. They also matched her lips, which pulled wide over her teeth, chuckling. “You seem surprised,” she said.

“I just…” He smirked, shrugging. “I thought your feet hurt is all.”

“Oh they do.” It was her turn to shrug. The light shimmered off her purple eyes, making them appear like deep navy pools. He thought the blue-gold was alluring, but _gods._ He was going to drown in her eyes at this rate, staring at her like a bloody fool. She reached to touch her fingertip to his chin, shutting his jaw closed. He smiled. “Close your mouth Jon Snow. Now, maybe I changed my mind about that dinner.”

He walked her around the car, opening the door. “Ah…” He warmed, hot under the collar when she picked up the rose curiously, spinning it in her fingers, and glanced sideways, a brow arching up quizzically. “That’s…for you.”

“I hope so.” She tapped his nose with it and slid easily into the seat, grinning. “I would have to castrate you if you were dating someone else.”

“Is that what this is? Dating?”

“At this rate I think we could retroactively call our other meetings _dates_.”

“Then I am way behind on this,” he murmured, once he got in the car, and reached for her face, his hand smoothing down over the slim column of her neck, and kissed her, long and deep, his tongue sweeping easily against hers. She moaned softly, sliding closer to him, her free hand gripping his shoulder.

She tasted amazing, he thought vaguely, remembering it from the kiss months ago in Winterfell. _Has it already been months?_ He broke away from her, when the need to breathe finally forced him to. She gasped, as caught off guard as him, laughing softly before she pressed her mouth to his again.

Several more kisses later, she reached to squeeze his hand, dropping it between them. He met her gaze, wondering what this meant. It felt _different._ “Take me to your hotel,” she murmured, cocking her head. Her brow lifted, smirking. “We have some catching up to do.”

He laughed, leaning to kiss her again, murmuring. “Yes we do.”

* * *

Jon could die happy, he figured, munching on random bits of junk food, tangled in 1000-thread count luxury hotel room sheets, a bite mark healing on his shoulder from a very impatient dragon, said dragon curled up semi-nude against him, and both of them pliant and sated from hours and hours of what was the most mind-blowing sex of his entire life.

And he was fairly certain it was the same for her, as he had the marks on his body to prove it, plus the vivid memory of her screaming his name and tearing out his hair from the first time he’d gotten his taste of her. The taste he’d actually been craving since he first had her mouth.

He wasn’t sure what they were talking about; they’d woken up several times through the night to devour each other, until the need for actual nutritional sustenance forced them to climb out of the bed—after they put the mattress back in place. Room service had been ordered, both of them shouting things into the phone, filling up the cart with everything under the sun. Ice cream, pancakes, waffles, fruit, candy, champagne, and even shrimp cocktail, because Dany said it reminded her of their seafood date.

 _“But I’m not going to kiss you until you brush your teeth,”_ she’d warned, as they waited on the food.

Somehow, they’d ended up discussing their future arrangements; he didn’t know what it entailed, other than she would be nearby at Queen Alysanne’s up north, as if the Old Gods themselves had intervened in this.

"I hope you know that I am not quitting my job."

"I didn't say you had to."

"I mean it, you’re not going to be my sugar daddy or anything like that."

He snorted, tossing a strawberry into the air and catching it in his mouth, jaws snapping like a wolf. He wagged his brows at her, chewing. "I wouldn't want to be your sugar daddy."

She rolled her eyes, picking up a chocolate-chip pancake from the pile on the tray in between them. She rolled it up and dipped it into the chocolate sauce it came with. After she dropped some on his chest and then licked it up—the groan he made was downright feral— she smiled, biting into her decadent treat. She spoke with her mouth full, not caring. "I'm dead serious."

"So am I! I don't pay for girls." He wiggled his brows again, leaning over to try to kiss her; ended up just licking at the drop of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. "Even if I did try to book you."

"I told Olenna to never let you book me."

"Aha! I knew it wasn't just me."

She poked chocolate onto his lips, sweeping in to kiss them. "You’re charming for sure Jon Snow, but even if I hadn't told her not to give you one bit of info, she still wouldn't. You were on her 'no no' list."

"What the fuck is that?"

"A list of men that Olenna refused as clients." She laughed. "She claimed you were too pure, I think. Actually I think she was reserving you for herself."

It both flattered and horrified him. "Well then," he mumbled, slightly flushed. He shrugged. "I guess it's nice to know she thinks I'm worth it." He rolled over to the nightstand, fishing for his Juul; as he moved, the sheet slipped down over his hip and he jumped, at the loud 'crack' of her palm on his arse. His mouth dropped, stunned and laughing, while she giggled, flicking a piece of pancake at him. "What was that!?"

"I just wanted to smack it. I've wanted to since I saw it."

"Get over here." He tackled her, knocking their plates aside, as she squealed, kicking her feet and giggling nonstop, shrieking when he began to blow raspberries on any exposed skin, he could reach.

"Stop!" she laughed, wheezing. Tears streamed down her face, her hair clouding around her face. She couldn't stop laughing and neither could he, pinning her arms to the mattress, leaning up over her and settling between her legs. She grinned, cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. "You're an arse."

He nuzzled her nose, moving to kiss a line down over her jaw and to her neck, fingers intertwining together. She sighed happily, murmuring approval. "You're a tease."

"Hmm, you were persistent."

"You like me."

She giggled, clearly lying with her next words. "No I don't."

"Yes you do. You like me." He pecked over her collarbone. "You thought I was hot."

"No!"

"You thought I was sexy." He grinned into her shoulder, nipping the soft skin. It was as good as he thought it would taste and feel, and then some.

"No way. Overinflated view of yourself."

"Maybe," he gave in. His heart filled so much it threatened to burst in his chest. There had never been anything close to this in his entire life. Nothing compared to how good she felt in his arms, how happy he felt around her. Whether she was Dany Storm or Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever she wanted to call herself.

_Am I in love?_

He frowned, touching his forehead to hers. "You alright?" she whispered. She let go of his hand, reaching to push his hair from his face, tangling at the nape of his neck. "Jon?"

"I don't want to say it." It was too soon, for sure. But he did. He kissed her, taking her lips with his, pressing her deep into the mattress and letting go of her hand to slide down to lift her leg up around his waist, molding her into him. They fit so perfectly. She returned the kiss, the shirt she wore—one of his— riding up over her waist and the sleeve falling down to her elbow as she reached to wrap it around his shoulders.

After a few moments, he rolled to his side, bringing her with him, draping her over his chest. They were covered in a mess, junk food scattered around them, candy and pancakes and melting ice cream. "You like me," he teased again, dopey-eyed. He flicked a strand of her silver hair out of her eyes, reveling in her soft smile.

"Gods help me," she whispered, leaning back to kiss him. She separated, her hand covering his heart, squeezing lightly into his skin. He took it, thumb drifting over her dragons on her wrist. She cocked her head, dead serious, quiet. "You’re better than you think you are Jon. You're a good man."

He felt a little tingly at those words. He smiled, nodding. "And you are too Dany."

"We both are, I think."

Jon lifted up from the mattress, kissing her, over and over, and as he lifted her into his arms, spinning around and carrying her to the shower, both of them giggling like morons, he was already wondering how he was going to propose.


End file.
